Voldemort's Finest
by beautyrauhl
Summary: A night of domination and lust leads to a Voldemort love child and history repeats itself. You could read this fanfic while reading the series so you can see how her character progresses throughout the books. It's set pre-Hogwarts, Hogwarts, post-Hogwarts. {Sex from the start.} Please leave a review!
1. Chapter 1 - Temptations and Relief

**Temptations and Relief - 1981**

He stepped towards the girl, careful not to trip as his billowing black cloak whipped around him in the bitter night breeze.

"Stupid little Mudblood!" he spat, seizing the young woman by her shoulders. His long pale fingers wrapped unforgivingly around her bony neck as he threw her against the jagged bricks of the frosty stone wall behind her. She sucked in a shaky breath. "Is there a problem?" he scowled.

She violently shook her head, her face etched with horror, her eyes damp at the corners.

"No? Interesting...Then you wouldn't mind if I were to bring you inside and accommodate you for the night? I'd hate for you to stay out alone on such a frightful evening."

He released her neck, his skinny hand tracing its way down her dark corset, stopping at her tiny hips. He glanced downwards, grinning manically as he viewed her slim legs which suffocated beneath a pair of ripped fishnet tights.

"Filthy muggle-born slut," he breathed, pressing himself against her. He brushed his rough lips against her icy neck before freeing her waist and snatching her arm instead. "Come," he ordered, marching towards the entrance of a nearby cottage, dragging the girl by her wrist.

After unlocking the cottage door with a speedy _Alohamora_, Tom Riddle stepped inside of it. He was immediately greeted by a hallway – tiny, with a damp smell wafting around them. A small wooden door was pushed open and a man strode from behind it, clutching a short taped wand in his left hand.

"Voldemort," the man muttered, unsteadily holding his wand out before him. But he was too slow, for Tom had already drawn his own wand and slain the man with the single flick of the wrist. The house was now eerily empty.

"Some wizards are so fragile," Tom chuckled cruelly, stepping over the corpse that now lay still on the cottage floor.

Tom yanked the girl towards him and fingered the lace of her corset. His breath was warm and tickly in her ear as he brought his hands to her buttocks, stroking her gently. She squealed but helplessly allowed him to grope her. He thrust his pelvis against hers, gripping her dainty figure. Only now, in the forbidden embrace of a stranger, had he realised what he had been missing. The intimacy, the lust, the danger. These feelings were all being hurled at him simultaneously as he caressed her legs, back, neck and arms. He sighed, burying his nose into her smooth shoulder. He inhaled deeply, letting her expensive perfume prickle at his senses.

He pulled the girl with him up the tatty cottage staircase and headed for the master bedroom, hauling her onto the huge old-fashioned bed. He glanced about him, inspecting the Victorian-style decor, before heaving himself onto the grimy linen bed sheets. He smirked maliciously, flicking his dark wavy hair from his eyes. His brown eyes flashed with desire as he lowered himself onto the young woman. He leaned over her and toyed with the thread of her tights, enjoying the way the bristly mesh tickled the pads of his fingers, and then planted a light kiss on her bare shoulder. She shivered.

Tom Riddle was admittedly beautiful; however, he was evil and malevolent and merely manipulating her to soothe his urges. To hasten away the fantasies and thoughts that tended to circle his great yet wicked mind.

"Another of your sins?" the woman finally mumbled, as his teeth nipped at her naked collar bone. Her corset was now halfway down her torso and her chest lay revealed, aside from the tiny black brassier that veiled her breasts.

"I beg your pardon," Tom hissed, scrutinising her pale face. Her large blue eyes were glassy and her flashy red lips were slightly parted.

Her cheeks flushed. "I...Nothing."

"'Another of my sins'?" he repeated. The corners of his mouth quivered. "_Sins_?"

"I-intercourse can sometimes be seen...as a sin," she whispered, her pretty eyes wide and traumatised.

"Intercourse," he snorted, returning his attention to her fluttering chest. He brushed the skin of her upper body ever so lightly with his cold fingers. "Relax." He slowly and gently traced the dark mark upon her breast with his fingernail, smiling savagely up at her. "I forgot to request your name, my dear," Tom frowned, gazing disturbingly into her face as though waiting for her to change.

She stared into his dark brown eyes and said, "Desiree – Evelyn Desiree."


	2. Chapter 2 - My Daughter

**My Daughter - 1989**

The corrupt man had left Evelyn pregnant. Tom had left her pregnant with a beautiful baby girl who reflected the physical beauty of her father. Though only small, a mere eight years of age, the girl already emanated the seduction and enticement of her mother. She was the extraordinarily endearing combination of her manipulated alluring young mother and her potent well-preserved father. Her hair was long and dark and her black eyes twinkled charmingly whenever they caught the light.

Evelyn's daughter, Ivy, had been raised in a magical household. Her mother, a modest muggle-born, had brought Ivy up singlehandedly without anything close to a paternal figure beside her. Evelyn feared men for years and never found herself in close proximity to one – she shivered if ever a male smiled in her direction or even simply acknowledged her. Ivy had known and dreamed about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the tender age of two, her night-like eyes glistening at the mention of magic. With only three short years ahead of her first step into the castle of supernatural wonders, Ivy would file through her mother's old textbooks and parchment, fascinated by the notion of being superior to others. Superior to muggles.

"Ivy," Evelyn Desiree called from the foot of the staircase. Her daughter bounded across the landing and stumbled down the stairs to Evelyn's side. "Ivy, there's something I should let you know about..." She began as she led the eight-year-old through to the dusty little kitchen, "In fact, give you."

"Presents?" Ivy squealed in delight, trotting behind her mother. "I sure do love presents!"

Ivy shook her thick black hair from her eyes as she heaved herself onto a kitchen stall and stared up at her only parent.

"It's from Daddy," Evelyn said dejectedly, pulling a package wrapped in age-old brown paper and tied up with string from her pocket.

"_Daddy_? Really? Is he finally coming home?" Ivy breathed, her tiny fingers reaching for the parcel.

"No, Ivy, I've told you before. Daddy doesn't belong with us...but he did leave this in my possession and I really believe it will mean more to you than it does to me."

"But why'd he leave you a present and not me?" Ivy whined gloomily, untying the yarn and dismissively ripping open the paper. "Do you know what it is?"

"No. I've never looked inside. I have no interest in your father's belongings."

"When did you get it?"

"I've had it a long while..." Evelyn paused, sighing with exasperation. "Since me and Tom first met, almost nine years ago."

Ivy blinked up at her mother, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "And you didn't give it to me straight away? Why not, Mummy?"

Evelyn watched her daughter. Ivy was so young and clueless...so naive. While her father, the most feared and despised wizard of modern history, lay either dead in some forests far away in Romania or alive somewhere in hiding, Ivy sat innocently thousands of miles from him with her single mother, desperate to one day meet the man who helped deliver her into the world. It was curious how a girl so pure young and pristine could be the offspring of such a ruthless and sadistic dictator. A dictator impeded only by an infant – The Boy Who Lived. Bless that boy. Bless the name of young Harry Potter.

But Ivy was like her father in more ways than one. Primarily, Ivy was a parselmouth, carrying the chilling ability to communicate with reptiles (namely, snakes) in their language. This was always one of Tom Riddle's dominating characteristics – his obsession with snakes. Ivy also tended to absent-mindedly insult muggles. She'd often view herself as superior to muggles and, sometimes, to muggle-borns as well. Additionally, she was a true Slytherin – ambitious, sly and outstandingly intelligent. Traits that could be accounted for by Tom, indisputably the most quintessential Slytherin known to wizardkind, aside from perhaps Salazar Slytherin himself. Although, with the exception of Ivy's mother, nobody appeared to notice these uncanny similarities. They were, firstly, unaware of Ivy's relations to the Dark Lord and, secondly, so diverted by Ivy's sweetness and beauty that their judgement distinctly blurred.

But Evelyn could see past her daughter's allure and charm.


	3. Chapter 3 - Tom Riddle's Diary

**Tom Riddle's Diary – 1989**

Ivy held the present in her hands for a few seconds before recognising it. A book. A diary, in fact, bound in navy blue muggle leather. On the back of the diary, three words had been embedded "Tom Marvolo Riddle" – the name of Ivy's father. This diary had been held by him at one point, had been used and perhaps even written in. For once, maybe Ivy could actually know what Father was saying, read what he was thinking. It wasn't at all much, but this A5 piece of leather and parchment was the closest Ivy had to a dad.

Ivy gripped the mauled book, fingering the loose threads of the binding. She opened it and peered inside. Nothing. She flipped page after page but all that existed before her were empty yellowing pages. Surely her father would have something to write down? Mother always said Tom Riddle was highly opinionated; why shouldn't he want to write his thoughts down? He must have bought the diary for some kind of purpose!

She set the open book down on the kitchen table and rested her head upon it. She was suddenly quite drowsy for the disappointment had drained her. She looked up again and swiped a feather from the table. Once having dipped the feather in a small pot of ink, she dabbed the nib on the corner of a page. A tiny blue spot appeared but just as it reached the paper, it seemed to immediately vanish. Ivy frowned, brought some more ink to her feather and began to write upon the parchment.

_I am Ivy_. she wrote, fascinated as, once again, the ink disappeared into the paper.

_Hello, Ivy, I am Tom Riddle._ The words appeared on the page beneath where Ivy's own writing had been just a moment before.

_Are you really? _Ivy replied, as her heart began to flutter. Her father was finally writing to her!

_I am_. the book replied.

_I've been meaning to speak with you, Tom. I am Ivy Desiree. Do you recognise me? _Ivy gushed, grinning at the book.

_Why should I recognise you?_

Ivy scowled. This was no father of hers; the real Tom Riddle would never forget his own daughter...especially if she was far more talented a witch than most her age.

_Because I am the product of your alliance with my mother... _she continued.

_Oh yes? I have performed no alliances in my time and if you mean to say that, together, your mother and I had a child (specifically, you) then I'd have to disappoint. You're looking for somebody else, Ivy Desiree._

_Did you or did you not meet Evelyn Desiree in the year 1981?_ Ivy pressed, staring coldly at the Tom Riddle's diary.

The book didn't reply for a few moments. Perhaps it had paused for thought.

_I did._ It replied at last.

_And did you or did you not engage in amorous activities when you met her?_

Another moment's pause.

_I did._

_Well, then unless you are suggesting that my mother became pregnant of her own accord, _you_ are my father. _Ivy responded.

_Is that so? Interesting. Well, as my daughter I'm sure you'd be keen to know that the wizarding world will not be rid of me for much longer._ Tom Riddle wrote.

_Rid of you? Tom Riddle, Father, I don't understand._

_I suppose Evelyn has not told you a lot about me then._

_Oh she has! Lots! She told me how talented you are. How well you did at Hogwarts School despite having been the son of a muggle! My mother is a muggle-born too._

_I am half-blood and, indeed, I am talented. I did extraordinarily at Hogwarts. I_ am_ extraordinary. I was the best student that school had ever seen. I was the Heir of Slytherin, in fact. I hood-winked half the teachers there by my fifth year! Even wonderful Albus Dumbledore._

_When I get to Hogwarts, I'm going to be just like you, Father, I'm going to become a prefect and earn the house cup and even be elected head girl!_

_Ivy, I would rather if you referred to me as your "Lord" instead of your "Father" and "Voldemort" instead of "Tom Riddle". I spit on the name of my father, your grandfather, and as should you. He was a filthy, wicked muggle. The only thing that man ever gave to me was his appearance. You can't expect me to keep that rodent's name, can you? He left my mother for being a witch. How _dare_ he refuse a descendant of Salazar Slytherin? It was essential that I eliminate the last of the unworthy Riddle line._

_Voldemort my Lord, were you successful in eliminating the Riddle line?_

_Incredibly so. But for now I believe some research of Lord Voldemort is in order before you find yourself in much more contact with me. As my own, I have many plans for you but plans that could only be carried out by somebody with a far greater understand of Voldemort, Slytherin, the Dark Mark and what these three things symbolise. Ivy, you appear to be a bright, well-judging and understanding witch. Of any daughters that could have sprung from your mother, I am glad it was you. The finest daughter a wizard of my status and standing could receive._

_Thank you. Goodbye, Lord Voldemort._

_Goodbye, Ivy Desiree._

And with that, Ivy's first conversation with her father, Tom Riddle (more commonly known as Voldemort) concluded.

"Mother!" Ivy barked across the house. "Mother! I just spoke with Voldemort! My father, Voldemort! He has great plans for me to carry out as his finest."


	4. Chapter 4 - Revengeful Betrayal

**1. Revengeful Betrayal – 1990**

Tom Riddle's diary had been glued to Ivy's hand for a lengthy four months before Evelyn finally acted. The situation was haunting. Ivy had been spending hours a day refusing to move from her chair as she spilled every thought into her father's ancient diary. However, at any time that the book lay neglected or with vulnerability of being read, the contents apparently disappeared. This was possibly the same magic used on a map Evelyn had heard of (the Marauder's Map), in which once the words "mischief managed" had been said, the map became an empty piece of parchment again. Several times Evelyn had searched the book, hoping that Ivy might have once forgotten to utter the magic words which veiled her writing.

"I wonder what you're writing in that book," Evelyn's said heartily as Ivy deposited Tom's diary onto the kitchen table.

"A lot," Ivy replied blankly, eyeing her mother, "it helps me sort through my thoughts and come up with new ideas and views."

Ivy had always been an intelligent, insightful and well-spoken little girl. Even at the juvenile age of nine she could grasp most of what was being said to her and speak in such a way that was far beyond anyone else her age. Nevertheless, her dialect had, all of a sudden, become so established, one would metaphorically rub their eyes in disbelief when told Ivy's actual age. Her vocal characteristics were loosely reminiscent of a voice Evelyn had heard a winter night nine years ago – an admittedly unsettling resemblance. Ivy really was maturing into the very image of her father.

"Really? What views?" Evelyn smiled, sitting beside her daughter at the table.

Ivy hesitated, before narrowing her eyes and answering, "My eyes have really been opened about..._certain_ kinds of people." She gave a vague smile before returning to the diary.

_My Lord._ Ivy began as her mother busied herself preparing dinner.

_Ivy._ Tom Riddle briskly replied.

_In some ways, it's obvious that my mother was raised by a pair of muggles. Her logic is backwards. _Ivy documented, ducking as two plates zoomed past her towards her mother.

_That's what you can expect from a mudblood. Especially one unashamed of her heritage. I honestly don't see the need to pollute our bloodline with non-magical derivation._

_I agree. _

_Ivy, you cannot tell me you agree and then do nothing to help your situation. There's only one way forward for our family. And it will singularly be achieved by the purging of unworthy life. It was essential that I eliminate the last of the unworthy Riddle line. Shouldn't you?_

_My mother. _Ivy glanced up at Evelyn. She was stood at the edge of the kitchen humming as she prepared their meal, immersed in blissful naivety.

_Your mother. I trust you won't find yourself misguided by the muggle pseudo-notion of love._

_Never._

A short week had passed before Ivy finally stood in the doorway of Evelyn's bedroom, her mouth twisted with disgust. Her trembling fingers shook the stolen wand she clutched in her right hand. Her grip on the wand tightened as she stepped closer to the side of her softly snoring mother. Evelyn was absorbed in her dreams, a victim of pitiful innocence.

"Sleeping well?" the nine-year-old drawled, slowly but precisely raising the wand towards her mother's chest.

Her mother's eyes gradually blinked open, soon widening with horror. Evelyn was thrown, her gaze travelling from the outstretched wand in her daughter's hand to her own chest – the area at which her daughter's wand was pointed. Realisation and panic flooded Evelyn's features, thrusting a fresh surge of adrenaline through Ivy's veins.

"I trust you won't find yourself misguided by the muggle pseudo-notion of love." Her father's circled her head, compelling her to step closer to her filthy mother's bedside.

"Is that–?" her mother began, watching her daughter with dread.

"Your wand." Ivy said harshly, turning Evelyn's wand in her unsteady fingers. "Yes, it is."

"What are you going to do with that, honey?" her mother murmured, voice quaking.

"You're the dirt of my bloodline," Ivy spat, looking her mother up and down and wincing with distaste. "Mudblood."

"Ivy," Evelyn breathed through choked sobs. "I've done nothing! You have to believe me!"

"Believe you?" Ivy scoffed, jabbing the air with the wand. "I'd sooner believe and intoxicated muggle than a filthy mudblood like you."

"Ivy, please! You're better than your father!" her mother cried.

"My father? My father is Lord. My father is everything!" Ivy screamed, impressed by the deafening echo of her own voice.

"Your father is evil!"

"My father is perfection!"

"Don't–!"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"


	5. Chapter 5 - Tom's Old Room

**Tom's Old Room**

The orphanage building was an intimidating square house built entirely from aged grey bricks within the city of London. It was trapped inside a boxy iron gate around its perimeter and although it was clean and fairly well looked after, Wool's Orphanage was a dismal home to view. Within its walls the orphanage had been refurbished in a slightly more modern style with pretty drapes and a large computer in the corner of the front hall, behind which a large queue of children had formed. The bricks on the inside of the orphanage were slightly more preserved – black and polished, reflecting a dark distorted image of any passer-by.

It had been a short fortnight since Evelyn Desiree had gone missing and a shorter three days since Evelyn's body had been found in the Desiree's backyard. Although over a week had passed, Evelyn still looked fresh – she might have been merely sleeping.

"Should we tell her?"

"It's probably for her own good she knows."

"But she's so young!"

"...Ivy dear," called a gentle voice from behind her.

Ivy spun round, her lip curled. "Yes?" she answered harmlessly, widening her eyes.

"We have some awful news to tell you," a woman, Ivy believed to be a volunteer, frowned. The volunteer was short and dumpy. She wore a clinical white apron with a pen tucked into its pocket. Her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her eyes were shadowed.

"_Awful _news?" Ivy repeated mock-dejectedly.

"It's your mother. They found her body," the volunteer grimaced, watching Ivy with pity.

Ivy's eyes lit up. "Oh good, I hope she's all cleaned up now and ready for the graveyard," she said, fingering the wand in her pocket.

The women around Ivy exchanged horrified glances as she stared innocently up at them.

"If I could have a say in her placement, I'd request for her burial to be in Little Hangleton near the bones of Tom Riddle, my grandfather. His grave can be found beneath the Angel of Death," Ivy continued absently. "That's the Riddle family grave. Granted, my mother wasn't really a Riddle – she didn't even marry into the family, for I was born outside of wedlock – but I feel it's only fair."

"And your father–?"

"Dead," Ivy lied, her voice adapting a tone of severity. "Dead, just like the rest of them."

"Well, uh. We'll do our best. I can understand how your mother's permanent residence would be important to you," the volunteer said hesitantly.

Ivy nodded curtly, before saying, "As this is my home now, may I interject another request?"

"Of course, Ivy."

"Can I stay in Room 27?"

"Room 27?"

"Yes. It was my father's." Ivy's eyes flashed black as she remembered him. She'd already memorised his handwriting and could recite everything her father symbolised: power, purity and immortality. He and his views were perfect...everything the world missed without him.

"Well, I don't see why you can't reside in Room 27. Follow me." The group of women disbanded as Ivy followed the volunteer to a flight of stairs. As they ascended the steps, she shook her head and glumly said, "It's so awful this had to happen while you're so young!"

"Don't pity the living, pity the dead. At least I survived. At least I can prosper."


End file.
